Record temperatures in the New York area
as 100-degree weather hits its fifth consecutive day with no end in sight...
I'll tell you who I Want!
I told you, I'll call you later.
Yeah, you'll get what you want.
lowlife pulls a piece on me.
It never worked!
What's wrong with you? I tell you not to touch...
You want to move your car? Huh?
Get out of the way!
Oh, my God!
Move, move!
They opened fire.
Move the hell out of the way!
Drop the gun!
Drop the gun and get on the ground...
Out of my way!
Move!
Move, move, move!
You get out of the car!
- Get out of the way, now! - Get out of the car, now!
Call 911.
- And then he went to... - You! You!
Stay calm!
Call the cops.
Get this guy away from me!
'Gm-I Help! Anybody, please help! - Shut up! Shut up!
Stand back, everybody. Okay, please, please.
Ripped & Corrected By mstoll June 2017
You ever wake up in the morning...
and the second you get out of bed, it's like...
every molecule in your body hurts?
- No, never. - I'm in agony, dude.
Did you go back to the gym?
Hell, no. Do I look capable of making healthy life choices?
I went out, Matthew. Went out dancing.
- I'm choosing not to believe that. - And yet, it's true.
- Mind if I ask you a personal question? - Go ahead.
- Are you insane? - Yes.
- Tell me it was the barista. - Hey, Foggy. Looking good!
Her name is Bethany...
- ... and she is very limber. - Oh!
You're my hero.
- Watch it, asshole. - So, uh, when's the next date?
- Well, therein lies the true pain. - No!
Yes. One and done.
End of the night, she hugged me like a cousin and said, "I'll call you."
Oh, that's brutal.
- You know what my problem is? - Well, it ain't the moves.
You know I got the moves.
That's the tragedy of you being blind, you've never seen me dance.
Yeah, but I can cite the legends I heard in law school.
So, come on, what is it? What's the problem?
No wingman. You never come out with me anymore.
Could you imagine Nelson and Murdock on the dance floor?
I can't deny that does sound epic.
- Then come out with me, Matt. - All right.
Come on, just one time, me and you.
What is it?
You're bleeding.
- Huh. Where? - Base of the skull.
Did you get it?
No one's gonna notice, if that's what you mean.
Thank you.
- I hate this. - We don't need to talk about it.
Good thinking.
You know, Karen's been asking questions. The cuts, the scrapes, the bruises.
- What do you tell her? - You have a drinking problem.
That's horrible.
Well, it's more plausible than
you put on a devil suit and beat the shit out of strangers.
You know, this whole thing isn't just your problem anymore.
And I'm past worrying about the broken bones,
and finding you beaten into a coma.
- What about us? - Nelson and Murdock?
You ever stop to think what happens if you get caught?
At best, you'll be disbarred.
Then you'll continue to do the good work we started together.
Do you even hear yourself?
You're my partner. I don't wanna continue alone.
Foggy...
last week, a client came to our office, Zuly Almeida.
Claimed her life was in danger. We had no legal recourse to offer.
I remember.
You recommended an excellent shelter for battered women.
- And she went. - Yeah, she tried.
That night, her husband found out she wanted to leave him,
and he followed her to the bus stop with a gut full of beer
and a butcher knife in his hand.
- You never told me that. - Well, I'm telling you now.
Mr. Almeida walked out of his apartment
with the intention to hack Mrs. Almeida into many bloody pieces,
starting by taking off her head.
Guess what?
Never happened.
Instead, he woke up in a hospital with two broken arms
and a restraining order safety-pinned to his chest.
Jesus, Matt.
If I take a night off, people get hurt.
I don't wanna lose you.
- You won't. - Promise me.
You want me to cross my heart?
Do not make fun of me.
I swear.
Come on. Let's get to work.
Yeah, I could get out of this heat.
Idiots.
Good morning, guys. You take the scenic route this morning?
- Morning to you, too. - Morning, Karen.
- What have we got? - All right.
Well, uh, Mr. Marino's dog was viciously beaten
by his neighbor after the dog, um...
defiled the neighbor's statue of Saint Francis.
- "Defiled"? - Um...
humped repeatedly until completion.
- That's a dog I want to defend. - Oh, he's... He's all yours, cowboy.
And, uh, Mr. Maxwell here was attacked in a bar fight last night.
He started it.
Oh, I... I called Metro-General and the other guy will recover,
but if you are looking at trial,
you probably wanna wait until his jaw is unwired.
Your girl's a badass.
You've no idea.
Um, and, uh, Miss Jacinto's working papers
have been denied for the third time.
Her father's gone and she says that factory work
is the only way she can support her family.
- Well, tell her not to worry. - Yeah.
I've already pulled her applications from the DOE.
Good, because we're gonna find her something better.
And that's just the appointments for the first hour.
You wanna talk about our 10:00 a.m.'s?
Uh, what's that?
Oh, uh, the bananas are from Mr. Tate.
Payment for that fender bender thing. And for you...
Strawberry rhubarb.
You will be mine.
Uh, so, um...
I installed this free trial of accounting software on my computer.
And the good news is that I can re-up it every 30 days
with a fake email address.
But, um...
The bad news is that we're broke.
As in, literally no money. And our income can't cover our bills.
We'll manage.
I don't know how, but I know we will.
All right.
Well, in the meantime, I guess we have, um...
lots of pastries and... And fruit.
Yeah, and fans.
- Portable, electric fans. - Yes.
And, uh... And each other.
Miss Jacinto, will you come in, please?
Let's see if we can find you a better way to live in Hell's Kitchen.
Please, sit down.
Apologies, Mr. Nesbitt. Blood's still up.
Best you mind him, Thomas.
You miserable mutt!
Where was all that fight ten minutes ago?
Place smells like dog shit!
There's a pot calling the kettle.
Someone get this poor man a drink.
Grotto, you mangy shite. How's the view up Nesbitt's ass?
Gentlemen, if you'll permit me,
a word before we begin.
This is a night for celebration.
A night to discuss the future of our family,
the gratitude we feel for the support of his father.
But, perhaps as important,
it is also a moment for sober reflection.
Sober, my ass.
Two hundred years ago, our people were little more than dirt farmers,
struggling just to survive.
They had nothing but their hopes and their fists,
and they brought both of them along when they came to America,
many to this very city.
Think you've had enough, George.
Now, some of you are young,
so, there's no reason you'd remember,
but there was a time
when the Irish owned Hell's Kitchen.
Wasn't a mother's son could make a move without giving us our due,
and any sorry shite dull enough to cross us paid a heavy price.
We had the cops, judges, councilmen.
We had the whole bloody city at our beck and call.
But we got complacent.
Lost our edge.
Just enough for a piece of garbage like Wilson Fisk
to steal what was rightfully ours.
That's right.
Some of us feared Fisk.
Some, in fact, ran.
A few...
maybe even deigned to work for him.
Siding against their own kind.
But now the Devil's taken him down,
and that, gentlemen, has provided us with a singular opportunity.
The Russians are dead.
The Chinese, they turned tail and ran,
leaving the drug trade ripe for the taking.
The Yakuza have gone silent.
- Piss on 'em! - Piss on 'em all!
- Piss on 'em all. - 'Cause this is our time!
Anyone crosses us,
we'll paint the streets red with their blood.
And when they're gone, we'll make your father proud,
and purge ourselves of the filthy traitors who betrayed their own kind
and make Hell's Kitchen ours again!
See, I don't know, that definitely sounded like cheating to me, Miss Page.
Foggy, are you sure we're not being hustled here?
As sure as Josie's AC is busted.
What AC?
At least she brought water.
Oh! You don't wanna do that.
- You can't drink the water here. - Josie's pipes have issues.
Rust, mold.
I think I can actually see the bacteria
- floating in there. - Oh, ew, ew.
See, that... That's why we, uh, keep our cocktails neat.
Pretend you're abroad,
on vacation someplace exotic, but no mojitos.
Josie just throws mint in the beer.
- Right. - Take over, buddy.
I gotta hit the head.
And don't let her out of your four working senses.
- She's as quick as she is beautiful. - Right.
She reminds me of myself.
Ah, this place brings out something special in Foggy
Are you sure it's not the alcohol?
No, it's the company.
He likes it when it's the three of us.
If it were up to him, we'd be doing this the rest of our lives.
God damn it.
- What happened? - There goes my shutout.
Um, you're going for a shutout against a blind man?
How do you sleep at night, Miss Page?
You don't get any sympathy from me, Murdock.
I'm still not sure who's hustling who here.
All right.
Here's your cue.
All right, you're lined up with the cue ball.
Six is at your two, pocket straightaway.
Six and pocket two.
Mm-hmm.
Fire away.
- How'd I do? - Well, you've got potential.
- All right. - Here, go again.
Six ball.
Straight ahead. Just...
Real soft.
Come on, you've done this before. Just go for it.
No!
That good, huh?
Sunk the eight ball.
Well, something went in.
I'll tell you what. You boys re-rack, I will, uh,
buy rounds for the rematch.
- I leave you two alone for one minute... - She wanted to teach me.
What?
Show off.
The guy at the bar looking this way, you know him?
No. Why? What's his deal?
Adrenaline's high.
His heart rate's out of control.
Well, he is sitting next to Karen.
There's something in his coat.
Coat? Hot room.
I don't need fancy senses to know he's probably packing.
What? Matt, don't make a thing.
Half the people in here are carrying guns.
Yeah, but none of them have their finger tapping the trigger.
Thanks, Jos.
You, uh, new here, friend?
- No, actually. - Hey, it's all right.
Look, I'm just... I'm just letting you know, this is a good place
with good people.
A lot of places a guy like you could drink.
Just saying.
It's not what you think. I got business here.
With Nelson and Murdock.
You must be the blind one.
Fifteen men, tough Irish. Armed.
All of them blown away.
It was a massacre.
We weren't hit by any rival family there. I'm telling you, we were...
hit by an army.
- That's quite the story. - It's a fact.
And believe me, you can go see for yourself.
Burren Club, 47th and 10th. Can't miss it.
It's the... part of New York that looks like a goddamn war zone.
What's your involvement in their organization?
- Who's she? - Answer the question.
Brannigan.
I've run with them for a long time. I don't deny it.
Pick-ups, drop-offs, sometimes doing things I...
shouldn't be.
No question, I'm... I'm no choir boy.
I'm tellin' ya, I just skirt the surface.
Unlike the men I work for,
and the guys that did this.
I'm telling ya, I had nothing to do with that massacre.
Assuming you're correct and the Irish were hit
by a powerful crime syndicate tonight,
if you're the only one who survived,
your good fortune's gonna rub some dangerous people the wrong way.
No shit!
I got a pack of killers gunning for my men.
My people think I'm a traitor or a rat.
So, what can Nelson and Murdock do for you, Mister...
- I'm Grotto. - Grotto what?
Just Grotto.
Witness protection.
You guys need to get me the hell out of here
before I end up in the only place hotter than this...
- Permanent. - We're a private law firm.
Yeah, a trustworthy one.
Quite a reputation after you took out Wilson Fisk.
The DA's office is the only place that can make a deal.
Yeah, I'm not walking to the DA without representation.
I know a lot. I seen a lot.
I'll give the cops anything to get me out of Hell's Kitchen.
Well, we have a reputation for representing
the good people of Hell's Kitchen,
not for negotiating on behalf of career criminals.
What if a criminal wants to change his career?
A second chance, that's all I want.
I know I'm only coming here with my word.
I got nobody to vouch for me, but I can...
Barely cover your fee. But word is...
that Nelson and Murdock put their faith in people.
And I need a little of that right now.
Please.
Lie low. We'll look into it.
You have somewhere you can stay?
Jesus.
Hey.
Guys?
Guys, he's bleeding.
Aw, sheesh.
Every time I think we've seen it all,
Hell's Kitchen manages to sneak up...
and kick me right in the balls.
It's gonna take weeks to process this shit.
And where's this asshole's hand?
- Guys, we gotta post stuff now. - We got two.
- You got two? - Yeah.
- All right, you might need additional... - Right, right, right.
We also got forensics on the scene.
Hey, I just need to know if my brother's in there.
Step back, please. I'm sorry, sir, but I can't answer that right now.
Hey, Brett! Over here, Matt.
I would say it's good to see you, but under the circumstances...
Would you please step aside, sir?
We got a couple of questions, Brett.
If you're here to chase ambulances, you might notice there are none.
- Any leads on what happened? - Oh, you wanna know what went down?
Read about it in the papers like everybody else.
We're not everybody else, my man.
Did you just say "my man"?
Uh, label this one six.
All right, now. Let's get body bags over here.
Look at this, Will you?
Now, what kind of bullet can punch through
polyethylene fiber vest thicker than my dick,
then punch straight through the same shit on his back?
All right, we get it.
You can't talk about an active crime scene.
However...
What if,
hypothetically speaking,
we may have recently acquired a new client that could help...
shed some light on this investigation?
- How recent? - Farm fresh.
- Was he here? - Client privilege.
Well, uh, Mr. Nelson, if that was true...
Hypothetically speaking.
I'd tell you that withholding your client from the NYPD
would be obstructing governmental administration,
and I'd probably just arrest your ass myself.
In theory.
I guess we really can't help each other after all.
It's over 100 degrees out here tonight, Sergeant.
Why would an Irish mobster
wear body armor to a private meeting inside his own club?
Hey!
Tell 'em keep it down in there or somebody's getting written up.
I help you,
you help me?
That's all we want.
There's a total clampdown on any of this getting out to the press.
- I'd like to keep it that way. - Brett...
You can trust us.
We're lawyers.
Come with me over here.
Come on.
DA's going bat shit trying to figure it out.
This isn't the first hit that matches this MO.
Call it massive gang-on-gang overkill.
Downtown office thinks we got new players in Hell's Kitchen,
and whoever they are, we're talking some kind of paramilitary-type organization
with the training, knowledge and hardware to take out half the city.
- What do they want? - That's what's driving the DA nuts.
We don't know who they are.
We just know who they're not.
I'd say they're definitely not fond of the Irish.
You think?
Where exactly am I gonna put this asshole?
The morgue's completely full.
This is worse than what happened to the Dogs of Hell.
Now, we got history,
so, I'll tell you as a friend, you stay out of this shit.
If you got a witness, the smart move is to turn him over and walk away.
Hell's Kitchen is about to explode.
You hear that? He called me "friend".
What'd you pick up? Your hearing's better than mine.
Whatever happened here happened to the Dogs of Hell last week.
- The biker gang? - Yeah.
- What are we stepping into? - I don't know.
I think I can rattle some cages, see who talks but, uh...
Did you even listen to Brett?
We're talking about a squad of trained killers loose on the streets.
Not the kind of guys you challenge to a fist fight in your underwear.
Hey! It's not underwear, Foggy.
Underwear is comfortable.
You're a lot of things.
Bulletproof is not one of them.
- I'll see you in the morning. - You're an asshole.
But if I can't stop you, the least I can do is help.
I have a guy I can talk to. Maybe come back with a few puzzle pieces.
Cool. Just be careful.
You don't get to say that!
Okay, okay, okay. You've got multiple lacerations, Steve.
All right? The doctor said...
- No! No doctor. - The cut is deep, all right?
Into the muscle, but there's no vessel damage.
Nothing that a few weeks of physical therapy can't cure.
You need to stay here.
- That ain't happening. - No, I'm here to help you.
By hog-tying me to a hospital with a target on my ass?
You wanna wait for a bullet through the window
- or pull the trigger myself? - You need to listen to me, Steve.
- No, you listen to me, you daft woman! - You can trust me!
- Who, in Christ's name, is Steve? - You are.
Your name is Steve Schaffer, and I am your wife, Isabelle.
You got into a bar fight defending my honor.
And other than the beer that was wasted
when that bottle sliced through your flesh,
I have got no regrets, because I have loved you since I was 16,
hot Irish temper and all.
Nurse actually cried when I told her that part, by the way.
It's a nice story, doll.
You gotta run home now.
You ain't got the balls for what's coming.
Slide into bed, sweetheart, and settle in.
Because I am the best chance you've got in the world right now.
You got your break-action singles,
your side-by-side, your over-unders,
and the classic pump-action.
All guaranteed to supersede every other on the market.
None of these is semis.
Aw, what do you need semis for, couple bad-asses like you?
Whatever this army is, they're planting men by the dozen, Turk.
No semis, no deal.
Man, I seen you shoot.
No semi's gonna magically make you have good aim.
Saw these off, spread your blast,
and thank me later, 'cause you ain't no deadeye.
What'd you just say?
Oh, shit.
Nice duds.
The Irish had a whole squad massacred tonight.
That's a damn shame, 'cause I'm fresh out of sympathy cards.
There's talk about an army in town.
Military grade firepower, high volume.
- Who's the supplier, Turk? - You think I know?
Shit, like that's so high above my pay grade...
I'm telling you the truth, man.
That tin in my trunk couldn't kill a rabbit.
Okay, okay! Okay, listen.
I did hear somethin' from a guy in Rikers.
It's got to do with Fisk.
- Fisk is gone. - Yeah,
but once you took care of him, what'd you think was gonna happen?
Every gang worth shit's trying to grab up everything fat boy left behind.
I even heard the cartel's getting into it.
They're bringing up some heavy munitions from Juárez.
Military grade.
- Where? - Warehouse.
Meatpacking District, 13th Street and something,
I swear I'm telling you all I know.
Listen, man.
I gave you what you wanted.
My hand's busted,
I got all this glass I gotta replace now.
Maybe, just let a brother go, huh?
Come on, D.
I'm out on parole, man.
I can't go back to jail. Please.
I missed Hell's Kitchen.
Yeah.
It didn't miss you.
Fine.
Know what? Be like that.
'Cause we both know I'll be back out by the end of the month...
I'll see you then.
Members only, pork chop.
It's okay, I'm meeting a friend.
Get lost or get hurt.
He's a full-patch member of the Dogs of Hell.
I swear, I just need to talk to him.
What's this big shot's name?
Smitty.
Don't move.
Does it look like I'm packing?
Gonna wish you were.
Come with me.
Look at this asshole.
Says he's here to see Smitty.
Old friend.
- Old friend? - Yeah.
Third grade. Sister Haney's class?
She really had it in for us.
Is he around or should I just... Ow! No, no, no, no!
Holy shit!
- What's your name? - Foggy! Franklin Nelson!
Never heard of you.
I've known Smitty for a long time.
Oh, yeah? Me, too.
Obviously, we went on different career paths along the way...
- Is this funny to you? - No.
- No, sir. - 'Cause I'm two seconds away
- from slitting your throat. - I'm not a cop, okay?
You a fed?
I'm a lawyer.
Look, I just... I just need five minutes
with Smitty and then I swear, I'm gone.
Yeah, you're gone now.
Ever walk back in here again, and you'll leave in pieces.
Nod if you understand me.
Take him out back, show him how we feel about lawyers.
No, please, no, no, no, no, no.
It's okay. I'm gonna get you down.
- I'm gonna get you down. - I'm gonna get you down.
It was a mistake coming here, I realize that.
- Shut up! - I just wanted to help people, I swear.
- Smitty would understand! - Smitty's dead, asshole.
What?
You have to believe me, I... I didn't know that.
Oh, I believe there's a lot you don't know.
Whoa, okay, look.
Smitty was a long time ago.
Couple years ago, I helped a guy named Foster.
- He was a biker! - Not one of ours.
- Ricky Wex? - Shut up!
I helped a guy named Pope!
Yeah, the VA said that his injuries weren't sustained during battle,
but they were!
They just didn't manifest themselves for 20 years.
Uh, we got his operation sorted and then,
a couple of months later, he was back on his Harley,
doing whatever it is you guys do. Which is none of my business!
You helped Pope?
Get the hell out of here.
- Really? - Now!
What happened to Smitty?
- You serious? - I came here for a reason.
I just need answers!
Look, if I don't get answers, a lot of innocent blood could be shed.
People who both you and I care about are gonna get hurt.
And you don't seem like the most sentimental guy,
but you're still listening.
And that knife isn't in my neck, so, I have to believe that right now...
maybe you and I are on the same side.
You got guts, Harvard. I'll give you that.
Columbia, actually, but it's not courage.
It's more like sheer adrenaline.
Hey, look, I wouldn't be asking,
I wouldn't be here doing this if it wasn't important.
Smitty was on a run,
I-90 with four brothers, transporting a big score.
They were hit by a goddamn army. Their whole crew was cut to pieces.
Left there like roadkill.
- Any idea who did it? - Nah.
New crew, doesn't matter. Whoever they are, we're gonna find 'em.
And when we do, you wanna be very far away from the action.
You didn't hear none of this from me. Now go.
And don't come back.
I always knew the devil would come for me.
But I thought I would be dead first.
- I'm gonna get some help. - No!
No... No...
Who did this?
No one escapes this.
No one can get away.
Tell me.
Tell me who they are.
No "they".
Him.
It's one man.
Hold it right there.
Oh, my God!
Oh, God.
What was that?
No, no, no, no, no, no, no.
Shit.
Someone's come to finish the job.
Shh! Don't move.
No, to hell With that.
He's got a gun!
Shit.
Come On, come On, come on!
Come on!
Dear God.
Shit.
What? You... You don't have the right keys?
- Shut up! Shut up! - Is this even your car?
- Belonged to a friend. - Where's he?
He's dead.
Get in!
Bang.
Ripped & Corrected By mstoll Released on www.Addic7ed.com